


Tongue Tied Wrists Tighter

by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anal Sex, Dom Peter Hale, Dom drop too why the hell isn't that already a suggested tag, Fluff, M/M, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Sub Stiles, Subdrop, Whipping, a waiter who is not getting paid enough, btw when I say Alternate Universe BDSM I mean everyone, like D/s is just a thing for everyone, platonic dominance and submission, service top and service submission out the wazoo tbqh, this is real fuckin soft my guys, thus the platonic dominance and submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 02:11:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15353931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyofthekids/pseuds/twothumbsandnostakeincanon
Summary: Stiles is lucky enough to have family and friends that he can sub for whenever he needs it. But who does Peter go to when he needs to Dom?





	Tongue Tied Wrists Tighter

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm a slut for D/s AUs where it's just an accepted part of the world, and then I started thinking about sub Stiles noticing that Dom Peter isn't quite getting what he needs on the fringes of the pack, and then it got like 6k more out of hand than I planned. 
> 
> This is my first time posting anything D/s, so like, if there's something shitty and upsetting please lmk, k?

The words ran out of focus again and Stiles rubbed his eyes. He glanced around at the group, trying to give his eyes a break. For once the entire pack was in the loft doing research instead of just him and Peter.

They’d still been at it the longest, though.

He was exhausted, but also antsy. His skin felt tight, yet horribly crawly underneath. Shifting in his chair to ease the tightness and rub his eyes again, it took a moment for the reason why to click into place.

_Oh. Duh._

He grabbed his book and drifted toward the nearest Dom in the room, who happened to be Lydia on the other side of the table. He dropped to his knees next to her, laying the book out on the floor in front of him so he could keep reading. Her hand automatically went to his hair, petting lightly.

Obviously it wasn’t enough to send him under, but it was enough to soothe for now. Most importantly, it was enough to allow him to keep researching.

“For God’s sake,” a sharp voice bit out. “He’s going to get bruises on his knees, at least get him a pillow.”

Peter grabbed one from the couch he was sitting on and threw it at Lydia, startling her.

“What? Oh,” she looked down in surprise at Stiles, who was rubbing the blur out of his eyes again.

“If you’re not willing to pay attention to your sub, you shouldn’t have one,” Peter said, voice still biting.

“Excuse me for being a little distracted as I translate ancient Greek into English, and then into Latin,” Lydia responded irritibly.

“Besides,” Stiles mumbled, giving up and closing the book. “You know I’m not her sub anymore, Peter. Don’t be an ass.” He started to get up, only to have Lydia hand him the pillow.

“No, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to help you. Kneel on this and put your hands on your thighs,” she commanded, voice taking on her Dominant timbre.

Stiles immediately complied, settling a little further.

“Good job sweetie,” Lydia soothed, putting a hand back in his hair and returning to her reading.

Stiles allowed the calm to sweep over him, his thoughts quieting to a whisper from their usual pandemonium.

He wasn’t under, but he wasn’t completely up either. He gave most of his attention to Lydia’s hand in his hair and her occasional pleased hums. However, he could still see Peter out of the corner of his eye. Staring, but trying to look like he wasn’t.

Stiles shrugged it off. It was a good kneeling pillow.

* * *

 

“Aw dude, you look like shit.”

Stiles flipped off Scott as he shambled into the loft for movie night.

“Come on man, you know that’s not what I meant,” Scott protested. “When’s the last time you went under?”

Stiles tried to look indifferent rather than miserable. “Dad was supposed to have the last three nights off, but he’s gotten called in every time,” he said, kicking off his shoes and cringing at the feel of the heel scraping along his foot. “It’s been a week.”

Ugh. Sensitivity. Tightness.

All the Doms in the room- Lydia, Erica, Scott, and Peter- looked up at that, concern ranging from mild to outraged.

“Since you’ve gone down at _all_?” Erica clarified with a deep furrow in her brow.

“That’s dangerous, Stiles,” Peter said roughly. “It leaves you vulnerable.”

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” Stiles snapped, immediately cringing back from talking to a Dom that way, and then getting mad that he’d cringed. God, he was super fucked if he couldn’t even talk back. He rubbed his face. “Just- someone please put me down for at least half of Indiana Jones, alright? It’s not going to take much.”

Peter swiftly stood up and took a step-

“Of course man,” Scott said, leaping over the couch and putting a hand on Stiles’ back, guiding him over.

Peter continued walking forward, into the kitchen.

Once Stiles was settled on a cushion, forehead leaning against Scott’s knee, he heard a clink. Turning to look, there was a glass of water on the coffee table next to him and Peter was retaking his seat, not looking in his direction.

“Lean forward, Stiles.” Scott directed him to tilt his head back toward his knee, and Stiles slipped under a few minutes later.

* * *

 

Boyd and Isaac circled each other, claws out, as Derek shouted angry sounding advice at them from the side of the yard. Everyone else was half watching, half basking in the sunshine.

“Hey Batman,” Erica called, sauntering up to him.

“Hey Catwoman,” Stiles responded lazily from where he sat in the grass. She plopped down next to him and leaned against his shoulder.

“Boyd won’t let me attack Isaac from behind while they spar,” she pouted.

“Hm, yeah, I think that’s commonly called ‘cheating.’”

“But is it? _Is it?”_ she emphasized.

Stiles took a good long look at her and saw a familiar tightness in her eyes. Derek deliberately never allowed Erica and Boyd to train together. Not against each other, because Erica couldn’t reconcile sparring with the sub she cared for, or in a pair, because Erica always went too hard against the person attacking her sub.

“Hey,” Stiles suddenly said. “Let me rub your feet and you can tell me how amazing I am at it.”

Erica gave him a little smile, grateful for the distraction.

“You do give pretty good foot rubs. Alright, give me your best.” She kicked off her shoes and Stiles pulled her feet up into her lap, starting with her arches and concentrating on the repetitive movement.

Every few moments Erica would praise the massage, the words relaxing Stiles and soothing her at the same time. By the time Boyd was done fighting Isaac, the tightness had receded from her eyes and Stiles was thoroughly relaxed.

Erica jumped up from the ground, ready to run to her sub, but she paused, looking back.

“Are you good? Do you want me to stay?”

Stiles smiled. Boyd was lucky to have her. “Nah, I’m fine. Go.”

Erica dropped a kiss on the top of his head and took off.

Stiles sighed. He felt a little colder without her and the praise she was so generous with, but he hadn’t been lying. He just needed to get up and shake off the edge of the “sub zone.”

As he stood up and stretched, he noticed Peter standing rigidly a few yards away.

There was always a certain deliberate cast to Peter’s casual stance, but today he looked like he was barely maintaining an attempt at looking relaxed. He looked wound up, ansty…

Tight.

Oh.

Stiles bit his lip. Peter… hovered at the fringes of the pack. Stiles was most often the one to include him, talk to him, spend time with him- and Stiles abruptly realized that even he’d never heard Peter talk about any long or short term sub.

Of course, Peter was private to the point of paranoia. Not talking about it didn’t mean it wasn’t happening. But the tightness in his stance...

Peter wasn’t looking at him, but there was no way he wasn’t aware that he was the focus of Stiles’ attention, so Stiles didn’t bother pretending to be casual.

“Hey. Can I kneel for you for a minute before your fight?”

Peter’s mouth actually fell open, if only for a second. After the shock passed, he snapped his mouth shut, and then opened it again, only to pause once more.

Eventually he got out an order. “Go get the hoodie from your Jeep and fold it up under your knees.”

Still on the edge of feeling his subby self, Stiles was happy to do so. When he arrived back, he immediately folded it up and dropped down, glancing back up at Peter for further instruction.

“Hands behind your back,” he murmured. “Eyes down.”

Stiles settled in the position, folding into the more mild sensory input. After a moment, Peter’s hand found its way into Stiles’ hair, combing through with an occasional gentle tug. He encouraged Stiles to lean up against his leg where he stood next to him.

Stiles found himself slipping a little deeper as Peter hummed, pausing now and then to quietly say things like, “Wonderful boy. Beautiful. You kneel so well.”

It would be so, _so_ easy for him to fall completely into deep subspace here. Peter was hitting every button that Stiles needed, and Stiles was beginning to have a hard time remembering why Derek’s yard was unsuitable for that.

“Sweetheart.” Peter’s voice was in his ear. “The training is over. People are leaving.”

Stiles slowly started to become more aware of his surroundings. When he finally looked up, he could see Scott leading Isaac away with a hand on his back, and Lydia and Allison climbing into their car.

“Oh,” Stiles said, voice sounding even more slow than he’d expected.

“It’s fine, take your time,” Peter said calmly. “You slipped a little further than planned, I think.”

“Yeah,” Stiles still a little groggy. “What time is it?”

“About four.”

_“Four?”_ Jesus, it had been three when he got the sweatshirt. He’d thought he’d be kneeling for fifteen minutes, tops, before Peter gave him the boot. “Did I- was I just down through your whole fight? I usually come right up when I’m not being touched anymore. Did someone take over for you?”

Peter snorted. “As if I wanted to train the puppies. Besides, I would never hand you over to another Dom without getting your permission first, Stiles,” Peter said seriously.

Stiles was touched in spite of himself. He smiled, standing up and stretching his loose, easy joints.

“That was really good for me, Peter. I’d love to do it again.”

Peter once again looked startled, mouth falling open. Stiles waved and headed for his Jeep.

He had a few things to think about on the drive home.

* * *

At a pack dinner later that week everyone crowded around the table, some sitting, some standing. Peter and Stiles had both managed to get seats by carefully applied elbows and claws, and were sitting next to each other.

Scott was in the middle of a story about something a pregnant cat had done at work, when Stiles turned to Peter and asked, “Can I get you anything?”

Peter stared for a moment. “Are you headed to the kitchen for something else?” he asked slowly.

“No, I just wondered if I could get you something,” Stiles clarified. Derek was staring at the two of them now, and Allison appeared as if she were trying not to look.

Another moment’s pause, and Peter said, “Yes. Please get me a glass of water, two ice cubes.”

Stiles nodded, and headed off to get it. Once it was delivered, Peter ran a hand down his arm and said, “Thank you, Stiles, this is perfect.”

Stiles preened, happy at pleasing Peter, and shot a look at Derek that just dared him to say anything.

* * *

Three days later they sat at the same table again, this time alone with their books.

“How the _fuck_ are we gonna get sea salt that’s been blessed by a Protestant Centaur?” Stiles said, whacking his book disbelievingly.

“We’re not,” Peter said absently, turning a page. “Keep looking.”

Stiles rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, head buzzing with possible solutions to their current problem. Half answers chased impossibilities, both barely stumbling ahead of worries about the deranged tree spirit that was eating people.

“Hey. Hey Peter.”

“Yes?”

“Can you make it an order?”

Peter stopped and looked up at Stiles. “... a Dom order?”

“No, a restaurant order. Yes a fucking Dom order. I can’t focus.”

Peter rolled his eyes, but said, “Move your chair closer,” infusing the words with a touch of his Dominance.

Stiles easily scooted his chair over til they were shoulder to shoulder.

“Keep looking,” Peter repeated, this time with absolute authority.

Stiles could practically feel his brain flood with hormones. His mind cleared of the other possibilities, suddenly focused on the single task of looking for a new answer rather than wringing out old answers that wouldn’t work.

Twenty minutes later, he jabbed Peter in the side with his elbow and pointed to his book.

“There. What about that? We have blessed steel and regular salt.”

Peter quickly read over it and gave a sharp nod. “That should work.”

They both jumped up to grab their jackets and head for the door. Just before they exited though, Peter paused for a moment to look him in the eye and say, “Good job, Stiles.”

Stiles’ return smile was blinding, and they both left with a bounce in their step to go murder a tree spirit.

* * *

The next Tuesday, Peter got a text from Stiles.

_My dad is on nights this week. Would you be willing to take me all the way under tomorrow or the day after?_

Peter actually had to sit down.

Of course Stiles was the one who saw. The one who always noticed.

What was his plan? To exploit Peter’s weakness?

Did it matter, when Peter knew damn well he was going to say yes anyway?

_Tomorrow. 6 p.m. I’ll have dinner for you._

The next evening, Stiles showed up on his doorstep with a printed list and a kneeling pad.

“I’m sure you have kneelers, I just really like this one,” Stiles said as he entered, waving the cushion a little. “I made a quick list of my spacey-likes and dislikes, ‘cause sometimes I get pretty nonverbal when I’m under.”

Peter took the list and looked it over while asking, “What’s your safeword cue when you’re nonverbal?”

Stiles held up his pointer and thumb, miming a crab.

“Pinching. Or, I have a jingly ball to drop in a situation where my hands are bound, but I didn’t bring it with me.”

Peter nodded, sternly keeping his thoughts away from the possibilities of Stiles with bound hands.

“What’s your safeword?” Stiles continued.

“The color system,” Peter answered, still looking at the list. Touch featured heavily in the likes. Petting, cuddling, lap sitting. Being left alone for longer than two minutes was a hardline. Eventually he set the list aside.

“I didn’t see hand feeding on there. Are you alright with that?”

Stiles shrugged. “I’ve never done it before, but I’m down to try it.”

Placing a hand at his back, Peter led him to the table nook and directed him to a corner seat.

Stiles felt cozy there, tucked in next to Peter. There was a relatively light spread of bite sized things on the table: grapes, cheese, crackers and the like.

As Peter brought the first bite to Stiles’ mouth, he said, “I must say I’m surprised. I thought you’d be a much brattier sub.”

Stiles smiled a little as he chewed. Once he was done, he replied, “I can be, but usually not. It’s just a less satisfying drop for me if I fight it like that. I save all my brattiness for regular conversation.”

Peter smirked. “You certainly do,” he murmured, continuing to feed Stiles, interspersed with bites for himself. Stiles’ eyes continued to be sharp as ever, his hands fidgeting and tapping, feet sliding along the tile under the table.

“This isn’t working for you,” Peter said after a few more minutes.

Stiles shrugged. “It’s not _not_ working for me. I just- I don’t know. Maybe I need to already be down for it to do anything for me?”

“Or it might just not be something you particularly enjoy. That’s fine, Stiles.”

Stiles frowned. “But, like- it’s a wolf thing right? Hand feeding satisfies the Dom part of your wolf or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Peter agreed dryly. “That doesn’t mean you’re obligated to endure it. The entire goal of a Dominant is to gain willing submission. To _deserve_ willing submission. If you’re not enjoying it, then I’m not enjoying it Stiles.”

“But I didn’t not enjoy it,” Stiles protested. “I want to try it again another time, after I’m already under. Please.”

Peter considered him for a moment. _Another time._

“Alright,” he finally acquiesced, thinking it was a moot point anyway. “There are a few dirty dishes, and I’d like you to hand wash them. I’ll dry and put away.”

Stiles jumped up as soon as Peter freed his exit, gathering the dishes and heading to the sink.

Peter’s praises for the way he scrubbed the plates did far more to relax Stiles than the feeding did. They stood arm to arm, bumping up against each other. Peter occasionally ran a hand down Stiles’ arm or brushed his fingers over his back, eliciting shivers of happiness. By the time the last glass was dried and put away, Stiles could feel himself flirting with the edge.

“Go get your kneeler and meet me by the armchair, Stiles,” Peter ordered quietly, the Dominant timbre of his voice taking up all the space left in Stiles’ mind.

By the time he had his cushion, Peter was already seated in the armchair.

“I’d like you to kneel by my knees while I read. Eyes down, hands behind your back. If you need to speak, raise your head and wait for permission, otherwise I want complete quiet.”

Stiles nodded and took the position immediately.

Peter’s hand rested on his shoulder, languidly running along the bones there. Stiles leaned into the touch slightly, calming further.

Twenty minutes later, Peter was sure Stiles was fairly deep. His heartbeat had slowed slightly, eyes glazed, and his fidgeting had completely stopped.

“Stiles, look up sweetheart.”

Stiles looked up at him, completely open and willing, and Peter felt something truly settle inside him for the first time in too long.  

“What a beautiful, good boy you are,” Peter praised. “A wonderful sub. You knelt perfectly, darling.”

Peter would have done awful things just to catch a glimpse of the blissed out smile on Stiles’ face. How incredible that he’d gained it with just a few words.

“Would you like to sit with me for a while?”

Stiles nodded eagerly.

“Let’s move to the couch, then. On your feet please, sweetheart.”

Once Stiles was settled sideways on his lap, head tucked into his neck, Peter put some contemporary piano music on in the background, keeping it low.

The next hour passed with Peter rubbing Stiles’ back and trailing his fingers up and down Stiles’ arms, telling him how wonderful and sweet he was. Stiles nosed deeper into Peter’s shoulder, radiating the type of contentment that only came with deep subspace.

Peter himself felt almost high. Having Stiles- clever, headstrong, determined Stiles- submit like this was heaven.

It was with the utmost reluctance that he started to bring Stiles up.

“Stiles, sweetheart. It’s almost eight. You’ve done beautifully, but it’s time to come up.”

Slowly, Peter heard Stiles’ heart rate speed up to it’s normal tempo. The fidgeting started again, though still sluggish and loose. After a few minutes Stiles still hadn’t gotten up, but he spoke for the first time in an hour and a half.

“Thank you, Peter.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Peter answered, a little too sincerely.

They sat quietly a bit longer, and when Stiles spoke it barely made a ripple in the calm.

“How long has it been since you put someone fully under?”

And maybe Peter really was a little high from the session. Maybe he wouldn’t have answered otherwise. Or maybe he was just tired of being completely alone.

“Two years.”

Stiles stiffened, but didn’t pull away. Peter tensed with him and began rubbing his back again, unconsciously trying to get him to relax.

“Two years?” Stiles whispered.

“Derek came to me once, about six months after my resurrection. It was an incredibly difficult session, because he obviously didn’t trust me, but I eventually managed to put him under. He didn’t come back again.”

“Why-” Stiles had to stop himself. There were too many why’s he wanted to know. “Why did Derek ask you if he didn’t trust you?”

Peter sighed. “Have you noticed anyone going outside the pack for that? Erica and Boyd, Scott and Isaac, Lydia and Allison. Derek tends to go between Erica and Lydia when he can’t put it off anymore. And you. When your dad, who I dare say you personally consider pack, isn’t available, who do you go to?”

Stiles was beginning to understand. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before.

“Wolves nearly exclusively do exchanges inside the pack. It’s the only place my wolf truly wants to practice Dominance.”

“I guess that answers my next question,” Stiles muttered to himself.

When Peter pulled away to look at him with a raised eyebrow, Stiles continued, “I was going to ask why you hadn’t visited a clinic.”

Peter’s lip curled. “There’s no satisfaction to be gained from the submission of a stranger who is hired specifically to submit.”

“There is if it keeps you from going crazy,” Stiles protested. “Speaking of which, how _haven’t_ you gone completely bonkers? Your hormones should be all kinds of horrible.”

Peter tensed again, just a little, but answered. “I’ve gathered bits of submission here and there from the pack subs. It’s been… just enough.”

“You know you don’t have to settle for ‘just enough’ now, right?” Stiles said, looking Peter in the eye.

“Why Stiles,” Peter said, over the top flirtatiously. “Are you suggesting we contract?”

“Yes,” Stiles said bluntly. That brought Peter up short.

_“What?”_

“Going under with you is really great. It’s better than I’ve had with anyone else, even back when Lydia and I dated.” Stiles shifted, sitting up straighter and starting to bounce his foot a little. “And it’s been over a year since we broke up. I’ve been getting by with my dad and the pack, but if you need a sub from the pack I don’t see why it shouldn’t be me.”

Peter’s mouth gaped for a moment before he snapped it shut. “I thought you kids were all about saving contracts for relationships these days,” he said, too tense to be flippant.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Impracticality is a personality trait, not an age trait. Besides, who says I’m opposed to a relationship?”

Peter was reeling now.

“Like, I don’t want to jump right into the naked whipping immediately,” Peter let out a little strangled noise, “but I’d love to go on a few dates with you. And if it doesn’t work out like that, there’s no reason we can’t keep doing this platonically.”

Stiles finally stood up, stretching lightly. “Do you want to start the contract, or should I?”

“I’ll do it,” Peter said immediately, trying to regain a grip on the conversation that had thrown him so entirely.

Stiles nodded. “I’d say I could stay and do it together tonight, but-”

“But you have two classes in the morning,” Peter cut in firmly. “You need sleep.”

Stiles’ mouth turned up at the corner. “See? You’re a good Dom, Peter. Why wouldn’t I want a contract with you?” He leaned forward and brushed a quick kiss on Peter’s cheek.

“Thanks again. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

* * *

 Stiles checked his phone as he left his Lit class, heading toward the closest campus coffee stop.

 

**_Peter 10:17 a.m._ **

_I emailed you my portion. Look it over, add yours, and send it back._

 

Stiles quickly typed back

_I’ll do that. Do you want to meet tonight to talk it over, or do you need more time?_

**_Peter 11:08 a.m.  
_** _Tonight is fine._

**_Peter 11:09 a.m.  
_** _We could discuss it over dinner at Pine Street Haven._

Stiles grinned to himself

_Why Peter Hale are you asking me on a date?_

**_Peter 11:11 a.m.  
_** _Not if you’re going to be a little shit about it._

Stiles snorted to himself.

_Me? Never. I’d love to go out to dinner._

**_Peter 11:14 a.m.  
_** _I’ll pick you up at 6._

* * *

 Stiles smiled at the waiter as he handed his menu back, keeping an eye on him to make sure he was far enough away before he talked.

“I want you to tie me up.”

Peter choked on the water he was sipping, spluttering as he set the glass back down.

“I didn’t necessarily mean that sexually, but I like where your mind is headed,” Stiles said with a unashamed grin. “It’s just something I think I’d really enjoy with you. Either my hands alone for a quiet evening on my knees, or something more extensive while you’re fucking me into the mattress. Is there something specific you want to try?”

“Fucking you into the mattress,” Peter replied promptly. “Eventually,” he amended, trying to regain his balance. “I’d also like to try a range of impact play with you.” He looked across the table, imagining that pale skin lit up pink… once again, he tried to pull himself back on track.

“We should talk about hardlines first, though.” He unconsciously tensed his shoulders. “I don’t do wax play or fire play or really any kind of temperature play.”

“Yeah, I saw that on the contract,” Stiles responded, purposefully keeping his voice casual. “I can’t be left alone at all when I’m in subspace, or honestly even close to subspace. I’ll freak out and drop super hard.” He took a sip of his own water, bracing himself. “Before my mom was first diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia, we didn’t have any safeguards for her forgetting things. So once when I was eight, she took me down, left me in the living room on my knees to get some water, and didn’t come back.”

Peter kept his clenched fists below the table as he listened.

“I dropped after about an hour of being alone when I realized she wasn’t coming back, but I couldn’t get up obviously. She’d given me a direct order to kneel. I was there for almost three hours before my dad came home.” Stiles cleared his throat and took another drink of water before looking up straight at Peter. “I get it Peter. Not your exact circumstances, but I get it. I won’t bring candles to a scene, and you don’t leave me alone when I’m down.”

Peter nodded tightly.

“I don’t have any other hardlines than that, although I reserve the right to absolutely hate something I’m trying for the first time, obviously,” Stiles said. “I’m only nineteen. Who knows, maybe I’ll turn out to love sounding and fucking hate suspension.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never tried sounding or suspension?”

Stiles shrugged. “Don’t particularly understand the idea of shoving something up your dick, to be hon-”

“Here are your meals,” the waiter smoothly interrupted, startling Stiles.

“Oh shit, sorry dude!”

The waiter gave a wry smile to both of them. “Don’t worry about it. You’re not the first couple to negotiate during dinner. Enjoy your meal.”

Peter sniggered inelegantly.

Stiles’ cheeks were still a little pink when he picked up his fork.

“So how’s your day job?”

They chatted about Peter’s job as a dealer of supernatural artifacts and Stiles’ classes, making their way through dinner. They declined dessert, and Peter visited the restroom before they left, so Stiles didn’t feel bad about answering his phone since he was alone at the table.

“Scotty, I’m on a date. Unless people are dying-“

“Oh shit I totally forgot! How’s it going? Is he into you?”

“I assume he’s into me, since he’s the one who asked me on the date.”

“Aw, yeah, of course he’s into you bro! You’re the bes-“

“Peter’s coming back, I’m hanging up now. Don’t call me back unless at least three people have died.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, arriving back at the table. “I didn’t realize you’d started demanding blood sacrifices for the blessing of an audience with you.”

“That’s my usual price, but I’m making an exception for you. Are you ready to go?”

Peter offered him an arm, something Stiles gleefully accepted, and they made their way outside.

“Is there any other part of the contract you want to talk about?” Stiles asked as they slowly walked between cars.

Peter hesitated. “You said you like to go down two or three times a week.”

Stiles looked over curiously. “Yeah, that’s where I’ve been sitting for the last year or so. I’m not gonna say no to more often, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m just wondering if you really want me to be the person putting you in subspace every time,” Peter said. “If you wanted to scene with me once a week, and then do the rest-“

Stiles stopped walking, pulling them both to a halt next to a minivan and interrupting him.

“Peter, I want you to take a minute and really listen to what I’m telling you: I want you as my Dom. I want to be your sub. I want you to take care of me even when I can’t explain what I need. I want to be the best sub you’ve ever had, because you deserve it.”

Peter’s jaw was clenched.

“You have barely any experience with me, Stiles.”

“That’s what the contract and dating is for.”

“And if we don’t work out?”

“Then we break up and I hassle you to find a different sub situation.” Stiles frowned at Peter. “You know I care about you, right? I cared about you before this. Please tell me you knew I cared about you before this.”

Peter looked away but nodded tersely.

“I’m not going to stop caring about you even if this turns out to be a bad decision. I don’t think it will, for the record. I think it’ll be a very good decision, but even if I’m wrong, and suddenly everything that I’ve enjoyed about your personality and our sessions together turns into shit, I’m not going to suddenly stop caring about you.”

Stiles waited for Peter to look back at him, blue eyes suddenly burning in the dim parking lot.

“The only way you’re going to lose me completely is if you make a real effort to push me away, and even then I’ll probably stay just because I’m a contrary bastard. Do you get it?”

Peter took a step closer, crowding him up against the minivan.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “I get it.”

He pressed his mouth to Stiles’, hands going to either side of his face. He immediately took control of the kiss, coaxing Stiles’ lips to open and tilting his head to exactly the right angle.

Stiles’ hands automatically went to Peter’s hips, fingers flexing there when Peter’s tongue caressed his. Peter stepped even closer, leaning into Stiles’ body, pinning him in place and taking.

Stiles moaned, every muscle in his body loosening by granting Peter the driver’s seat. He relaxed back into the car behind him and simply enjoyed the feel of Peter’s kiss.

_“Ah-hem.”_

Peter and Stiles startled apart. Looking toward the sound, they saw their waiter.

“I’m glad to see the negotiation went well, but my shift is over, and that’s my car.”

“I apologize, truly,” Peter said smoothly, allowing Stiles to hide his red face and kiss swollen lips in his shoulder. It took a moment for him to realize Stiles shoulders were shaking with laughter.

“Thank you again for the excellent service tonight,” Peter added as he steered Stiles away.

“Yeah, sure,” the waiter said carelessly. “Maybe make out against your own car next time.”

* * *

The change in Peter was immediate and obvious, even to the pack members who were clueless.

Peter’s comments were less biting, his bearing less sharp. He offered up his knowledge more freely and he even explained new concepts that some found difficult to understand.

Derek cornered Stiles in the parking lot of the grocery store after just a week of their contract.

“How can you do it? How can you let him put you under?” he asked. Not aggressively, but with genuine confusion.

“Because I trust him. He's a good Dom,” Stiles said simply. “Do you realize he was basically starving? He’s had no consistent submission for the last two years.”

Derek bristled.

“He killed my sister,” Derek said through his teeth. “He may have been crazy at the time, but he still did it. How could I put myself in such a- a vulnerable-”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Derek. I completely get why you wouldn’t be able to submit to him, It’s not your responsibility to sacrifice your own needs as a sub to meet his needs as a Dom. But that doesn’t mean he _doesn’t_ need it. And that doesn’t mean he’s not a good Dom.”

Stiles gave him a little push to free an exit for himself.

“We fit together. You don’t have to understand it, Derek. You just have to not be a dick about it.”

Derek let him go after that, confusion still on his face.

* * *

A couple of weeks later, after a date and while coming out of a scene, Stiles was curled up on the couch next to Peter.

“Hey, do you know any free Doms?” he asked with a slight yawn.

“I didn’t think tonight went _that_ badly,” Peter said with a smirk and tense hands.

“For my _dad,_ you dork. You were perfect tonight, just like three days ago and two days before that.”

“Your dad?” Peter asked, surprised.

“Yeah, he’s a switch. Like Allison.” He yawned again. “He goes to a clinic whenever he needs subspace, but I don’t think he’s the most comfortable with it. He tends to put it off until it’s like, really really obvious that he needs it.” Stiles went quiet for a moment. “I’m sure it’s because he misses mom, but I’m kinda hoping that if he has a personal relationship with a steady Dom, then maybe he won’t wait so long between sessions. It’s hard on him.”

Peter rubbed Stiles’ back, still coming out of his own headspace and fighting the urge to get up and _immediately fix_ whatever was making his sub sound sad.

“I could recommend a couple of friends,” Peter said slowly. “But you know that that’s something your father has to decide he’s ready for? You can’t push him into it. If he hasn’t sought out a friend or co-worker already, then it’s possible that he still needs that step of distance between himself and submitting to someone who isn’t your mother.”

“But it’s hurting him,” Stiles protested, leaning back from Peter to look at him more clearly. “He’s waiting so long that it throws off his chemical balance.”

“That’s probably true, but you still can’t force him into emotional readiness. All you can do is let him know you’ll support him when he does decide he’s ready.”

Stiles frowned and then slumped back forward into Peter.

“Stop being reasonable and help me plot against my dad,” he mumbled half-heartedly into his chest.

Peter smoothed a hand over his head before tilting it back for a kiss.

“No,” he said against Stiles’ lips. “You wouldn’t respect me in the morning.”

Stiles pushed forward a bit, encouraging another kiss; something with which Peter promptly complied.

_Bzzt_

_Bzzt_

Stiles’ brow furrowed. “That should only be letting emergency shit through.” He picked up his phone, checking his messages.

It was from Melissa.

_Your dad’s in the hospital. Shallow knife wound in the arm, already stitched. They’re keeping an eye on him for infection for tonight, likely to be released in the morning._

_I know you’re freaking out right now, but try to calm down before you get here. Bring your new Dom if you feel comfortable doing that, but just try to remember that he’s okay._

Stiles’ hands were shaking by the time he finished reading.

“Stiles?” Peter asked, concerned.

“My dad,” Stiles said distantly, handing the phone to Peter and standing, still in shock. He was breathing shallowly, hands still shaking- oh, no, it was all of him. All of him was shaking.

Peter quickly read the messages, looking back up at Stiles before pocketing the phone and standing up next to his sub.

“Stiles, look at me.” He put a hand under Stiles’ chin, tilting his face to see that his pupils were far too dilated. With the shock coming so soon after a scene, before his hormones had settled- “Stiles, you’re dropping. I need you to come with me into the kitchen for a moment.”

Stiles was shaking his head no before Peter was done talking.

“No, no, I have to go see my dad-”

“Yes, we’re going to go see your dad, but first we’re going into the kitchen.”

“No-”

“Stiles,” Peter said again, infusing it with his Dominant tone this time, and finally catching Stiles’ full attention. “You are dropping right now. You cannot go anywhere like this without putting yourself in danger. We’re going to go into the kitchen to get some crackers and two water bottles. You’ll put them in your bag, and then I’ll drive you to the hospital. Okay?”

Stiles stood still for a beat, struggling between the instinct to get to his father as quickly as possible, and the intellectual knowledge that Peter was right.

“Okay.” He took a deep, stuttering breath. “Okay.”

Once the water and crackers were in Stiles’ bag, Peter grabbed an extra sweater from the back of a chair and bundled it onto Stiles before they stepped out into the brisk night air.

The drive to the hospital was silent, with Peter holding Stiles’ hand whenever the steering allowed. Melissa called them out of the waiting area as soon as they arrived and took them back to the E.R.

“We’re still waiting on a room,” she said, talking to Stiles and casting a sharp glance over Peter. “But he’s comfortable.” She knocked on a door jamb as she walked through and called, “Hey John, Stiles is here."

Stiles rushed in past her to his father’s bedside, but Peter paused and turned to Melissa before entering.

“We were just wrapping up a scene when he got your messages, and he started to drop before we left. I managed to grab some crackers and water, but do you have any fruit or something I could give him?”

Melissa’s eyes softened.

“Yeah, I’ll grab an orange for him. Are you okay?”

“I’m not dropping, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ll be fine once I’m sure Stiles is fine.”

“And Stiles won’t be fine until he’s sure John is fine,” Melissa sighed. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Peter entered just in time to hear John say “-was a two inch paring knife, Stiles, I’m fine. He got the muscles, but missed anything important.”

“Your muscles are important, Dad,” Stiles stressed. “You use them pretty often.”

“Less important than my lungs, though.”

Stiles tensed.

“Melissa says they’re waiting on a room,” Peter cut in smoothly, coming to sit next to Stiles.

John gave him a long look. They hadn’t spoken since Stiles started dating and contracted with Peter, but he was aware.

“Thanks for getting him here safely,” John said.

“‘Him’ is sitting right here, and doesn’t appreciate being talked about instead of to,” Stiles said with an eye roll.

“I’m allowed to thank your boyfriend for driving you here,” John snarked back. The two continued to snipe back and forth, the love and concern between them obvious with every word. Eventually the pain killers got the best of John though, and they dimmed the lights so he could sleep while they waited for the mythical free room.

Stiles tucked himself into Peter’s side, under his arm. The sounds and smells of the hospital surrounded them, leaving both of them with unpleasant memories.

Peter tried to chase his away by inhaling Stiles’ scent mixing with his own from the sweater he still wore. Stiles simply curled his fists into Peter’s shirt, fighting off an occasional shiver.

Eventually, Peter peeled the orange that Melissa had dropped off earlier and silently offered Stiles a slice.

Stiles glanced at it before asking, “Will you feed it to me?”

Peter furrowed his brow.

“Are you sure?”

Stiles nodded.

Peter brought the slice up to Stiles’ mouth, allowing him to take a bite. He caught the stray juice running down his chin and quickly wiped it away. Stiles chewed and swallowed, and they repeated. Again and again, until half the orange was gone.

With every bite, Stiles settled a little more. The dread and ache of the sudden drop finally left him completely, and Peter’s concern over his sub was finally put to bed.

When Stiles shook his head, denying another bite, Peter set it aside and encouraged Stiles to lay his head down on his lap. He combed fingers through his hair at a steady pace until he heard his breathing become slow and even.

“Thanks for taking care of him. Not just the drive here. Thanks for all of it.”

Peter looked up at the whisper to see John’s eyes open.

“He deserves the best Dom,” John continued.

“He does,” Peter quickly agreed, knowing that Stiles deserved so much more.

“And the best Dom for him is the one he wants, so it’s good to see him with the Dom he deserves.”

Peter’s brain stalled for a moment.

“What kind of pain medication are you on?”

“The good shit,” John said easily, holding up his titration button. “But I’m not wrong.”

Peter was silent for another moment.

“He worries about you, you know,” he said eventually. “Specifically about how long you wait before going to a clinic.”

John sighed. “Yeah. I know.”

Peter pushed forward. “He asked me if I the names of any free Doms he could toss your direction.”

John’s silence was heavy.

“But personally I think you could use the name of my therapist instead. She’s an excellent loss counselor.”

Peter let the silence sit after that.

Just when he thought John had fallen back asleep, one more whisper came from the bed.

“Get my number from Stiles and text me her name. Thanks Peter.”

* * *

“Yeah,” Stiles said into his phone as he paced through the loft. “That’s right. Just dip your claws in the cranberry juice and dig them in somewhere around the gut area. Like, just anywhere near the stomach.”

“And there’s no other way?” Scott asked again, resigned.

“‘Fraid not, buddy,” Stiles said. “But if it makes you feel any better, the wiki says they turn right back into bog mud once the juice enters their system. So there’s probably minimal suffering.”

“Alright,” Scott sighed. “Stay in the loft until I give you the all-clear,” he ordered.

Stiles pulled the phone away to look at it in disbelief before putting it back to his ear.

“Yes, Master,” Stiles sniped back, dripping with sarcasm, before hanging up. Stiles loved him like a brother, he really did, but occasionally Scott fell into Dom stereotypes that grated against his nerves in the worst way.

“Trouble in paradise?” Peter drawled from his kitchen chair.

Stiles sighed aggrievedly. “Honestly, I don’t even think he’s aware of when he’s doing it, but every time he edges into giving me a Dom order I just wanna fucking smack him,” Stiles said as he slouched over and dumped himself into Peter’s lap.

Peter rubbed circles into his back. “I could always take him outside and show him what it feels like to be made to submit,” he suggested casually, flexing the claws of one hand.

Stiles snorted, flicking the clawed hand away. “Nah. I’ve spent too much time with him for it to really work unless I want it to.”

“That doesn’t mean he should be allowed to continue,” Peter said seriously. “There’s a reason that abuse of Dom commands is punishable by life in prison. Even children understand that it’s unacceptable, Stiles.”

“He’s never really given a command that I didn’t ask for,” Stiles soothed. “He just… doesn’t always keep a solid cap on his tone, is all. He’ll probably grow out of it.” Stiles adjusted himself to straddle Peter’s lap and leaned forward onto his shoulder, rubbing his cheek there. “And if he ever _does_ cross that line, you can have whatever’s left of Scott after I destroy him,” he added lightly.

Peter chuckled, continuing to rub Stiles’ back.

“So we’re stuck here until the Puppy Brigade finishes?” he asked after a moment of quiet.

“Mm-hm,” Stiles confirmed, snuggling closer. “I mean, that’s the recommendation anyway. We could leave if we really wanted to. But they’re probably all going to show up here afterwards, and then we’ll be able to hear what happened.”

“I suppose that’s something you probably you want,” Peter mused.

“You suppose correctly,” Stiles said, squirming even closer.

“Hmm… however will we pass the time until then?”

Stiles turned his face to hide his grin in Peter’s shirt.

“We could do some more research,” he suggested innocently, glancing up at Peter and smiling bigger when he saw his raised eyebrow.

“Research,” Peter said, drawing out the word. “You know, I think that’s a fantastic idea. For example, I’m very interested in documenting your reactions to being touched here,” he dragged a finger across the strip of bare skin above Stiles’ waistband, pulling out a shiver.

“As opposed to your reaction to being touched here.” The hand moved up his shirt, smoothing across Stiles’ ribs. “Or here.” Peter’s other hand slid from Stiles’ hip to grip his ass, sending Stiles rocking forward into Peter with a moan.

“Ooh, I think we need a repeat of that one to confirm the resul-” Stiles cut off his nonsense with a kiss, melting forward as Peter tightened his hold on Stiles’ ass and hauled him closer. Peter’s other hand soon joined on the other cheek, kneading and gripping.

Stiles moaned into Peter’s mouth, hitching his hips back and forth, wanting to push into every sensation. He nipped at Peter’s lips in frustration, unable to decide what he wanted more.

“Ah ah ah, sweetheart,” Peter pulled his mouth away in punishment. “Biting tells me nothing. What’s the problem?”

“I want _more,”_ Stiles insisted. “I don’t know- I just want more.”

“Hm, more of this?” He gripped Stiles’ ass again and rocked him forward, causing Stiles’ cock to grind into Peter’s abs.

Stiles gasped and nodded frantically. “Yes, yes, more of that.”

Peter captured his mouth again, licking in to possess him wholly. Stiles’ hands tightened on his shoulders as Peter set his hips into a rhythm, not speeding up or slowing down. It was metronome steady, and something that could have easily been frustrating if Stiles weren’t so ready to surrender to Peter.

Instead, he sank into the headspace, just a little. Just enough to grasp the satisfaction of being along for the ride with his Dom. He settled into the sensation, eventually pulling away from the kiss to breathe properly.

“Such a good boy,” Peter purred. “Letting me take care of you. Do you want to come, Stiles? I need a verbal yes or no.”

It took him a moment of rapid head nods, but he finally managed to say, “Yes, yes yes yes, _please,_ Peter.”

“Okay, shh, I’ll take care of you,” Peter assured him. One hand moved to Stiles’ fly, undoing the button and slowly pulling down the zipper.

Stiles’ eager cock peeked out of the band of his briefs, leaking from the slit.

“Gorgeous,” Peter murmured, lightly touching the head with his thumb and then bringing the thumb to his mouth. “Just gorgeous.”

Stiles whimpered when Peter pulled his dick out, loosely wrapping around it. The one hand on his ass kept the rhythm, rocking him forward into Peter’s fist. Stiles tipped his head back, eyes closed, and laid into the feeling.

Hot moisture set on his throat after a moment, blunt teeth scraping lightly along his skin. Stiles moaned loudly, feeling the convulsive tightening of Peter’s fist in reaction. Peter kept the tighter grip around his cock and used the hand on his ass to increase the pace.

He kept his bites light, suction ghosting along the curve of Stiles’ neck, until he reached the collarbone. He brushed his lips back and forth there until deciding on a spot, and then latched on to draw a bruise to the skin as Stiles fucked forward. The hand on Stiles’ ass snuck into the loose band of his pants, gliding over the smooth skin and causing Stiles to gasp for air.

Once Peter was finally satisfied with the mark he’d left on Stiles’ skin, he brushed his lips back up Stiles’ throat until he reached his ear.

“Come for me, Stiles,” he murmured, Dominance in every word. “Come now.”

Eyes closed tightly, Stiles spilled over Peter’s hand and on his shirt. He panted for air as he came down.

When he finally opened his eyes, tipping his head back down, Peter’s returning gaze was a glowing blue, bright with hunger.

“Can I-?” He limbs were slow moving, but he got a hand on Peter’s button before he was halted.

“Not today, sweetheart,” Peter said gently. “That was- you’re wonderful.” He leaned in to inhale deeply at the curve of Stiles’ neck, calming himself down. “That was amazing, but we should have discussed it first.”

“We’re dating, Peter. Not every orgasm is going to be negotiated beforehand,” Stiles reasoned.

“No, but the first one probably should have at least been talked about. And also possibly not have occurred in my nephew’s home,” Peter responded dryly.

Stiles grimaced. Oh yeah.

“Ah shit, I got jizz all over your shirt.” He leaned back. “ _Fuck,_ and mine.”

He carefully scooted back on Peter’s lap to tuck himself away and do up his pants. “Let’s get out of here and go change before-”

The loft door opened with a clamor.

“You would not believe how hard it is to get cranberry juice at one in the morn- what’s that smell?”

Stiles froze for a moment before slowly twisting to look at the group.

Derek’s eyes’ were glowing an angry Alpha red while Erica grinned behind her hand. Boyd looked bored, Isaac’s nose was wrinkled, and Scott just looked confused.

Stiles cleared his throat.

“Uh, wow, that was fast! Peter and I are just gonna go-”

“In my KITCHEN?!” Derek roared.

The gears in Scott’s head nearly audibly finally clicked into place.

“Wait, _Peter??_ _That_ Peter?? _Peter-_ Peter is the Peter you were talking about??”

Stiles slapped a palm to his forehead while Peter buried a smile in Stiles' shoulder.

"Yes, in your kitchen, and the longer we sit here the longer we're  _still in your kitchen_ _,"_   Stiles emphasized, ignoring Scott for the moment. 

Peter was fairly sure he'd never been kicked out of a building faster.

* * *

“I want to negotiate a scene.”

“Alright,” Peter said lazily from the couch. What did you have in mind?”

“Naked whipping.”

Peter’s head turned so fast that his neck cracked.

“We’ve been together two months, had a dozen orgasms between us- I don’t think it could be considered ‘jumping into’ it at this point,” Stiles said, sitting cross legged on the floor. “I want you to whip me with that deerskin single-tail you have in the closet, and then I want you to fuck me while I’m all spacey and shit.”

Visions of pink stripes criss crossing Stiles’ skin danced across Peter’s mind.

“Yes,” he said decisively. “Yes, let’s do that.”

They decided to go out for dinner at the beginning and play afterwards, which wasn't a mistake Peter would make again.

Stiles was giddy through the entire meal, flirting and teasing at his maximum. They ended up with most of their food left on the table and Peter promising himself that this was the only time he’d ever allow this type of behavior during a scene.

(That was a damn dirty lie.)

In any case, Peter slid Stiles’ jacket from his arms as soon as his door was closed. He leaned in, brushing his lips over Stiles’ shoulder and whispered, “Go to my room and undress. Fold your clothes and place them on the chair in the corner, and then kneel next to the bed facing the door.”

There was no push to his words yet, no dominance- only a request. Stiles turned his head to press a light kiss to Peter’s cheek, and then left to do as he was told.

Despite not having been asked, he got out the soft nylon cord they’d decided on beforehand and laid it on the bed before undressing to kneel.

As soon as Peter entered, he saw the cord and smiled.

“So clever and helpful,” he praised. “Thank you Stiles.”

Stiles preened where he sat on his heels, hands behind his back. Peter picked up the cord and slowly looked at all of Stiles’ pale skin on display- for him. On display and waiting to be marked _by him._

Peter stepped behind and crouched down, taking Stiles’ wrists and bringing them around to his front to tie them together, his chest pressed to Stiles’ back. He wiggled a finger between the cord and the skin to check the tightness, peering over Stiles’ shoulder to be sure. Satisfied, he lightly dragged his hands up Stiles’ arms, reaching his shoulders to grip him there. He leaned forward to whisper in Stiles’ ear, “Kneel on the bed facing the headboard, on your knees and elbows.”

Stiles shivered, sinking into the Dominant tone and immediately moving to comply.

Peter watched him get up, careful of his balance with his hands bound. Stiles possessed a mindful flow of movement during a scene that simply didn’t exist outside of it, something that Peter considered a gift to watch.

As soon as Stiles was settled, Peter stepped out of his line of sight briefly to undress and fetch the whip.

He rolled and twisted the leather as he stepped up to the side of the bed again, seeing Stiles’ shoulders relax at the proof of his presence.

“Color?” Peter asked.

“Green.”

Peter set the whip on the bed and used both hands to rub down the skin of Stiles’ back, feeling the warmth and softness. He dug his fingers into his ass, firmly rubbing his thumbs down into his thighs and massaging there too for a moment before stepping back and picking up the whip again.

“Twenty strikes,” he said, his Dominance taking up the entire room and clearing Stiles’ head. “Count them.”

Stiles heard the first strike before he felt it. The whistle, the snap, and then- sharpness, blooming into a flower of heat.

“One.”

Another crack, another lightning burst of pain that spread into incredible warmth.

“Two.”

Oh God, Stiles loved this. The first ten passed in a steady pace of vicious bites that immediately burned into the sensation that he loved. He began to float, achieving a different, but no less cathartic, type of subspace. His numbers came slightly slower and slower as the feeling took up his mind.

“Color.”

Stiles struggled for a moment to find the word that wasn’t a number, the word that would continue the sensation.

“Stiles, color,”

“Green,” he finally got out.

“Alright,” Peter said soothingly. “I’m going to hand you your ball now. I don’t want you to count any more.”

Stiles nodded, opening his hand to receive the jingle ball from Peter. He grasped it tightly, not wanting to risk accidentally dropping it and stopping the scene.

Peter ran a hand across Stiles’ thighs, lightly fingering the pink stripes there and making Stiles moan and shiver. His concentration focused once more, he stepped back within Stiles’ line of sight and raised the whip.

The second ten strikes were a haze of pain, heat, and pleasure; the criss crossing lines taking up all of Peter’s vision and leaving Stiles floating on a cloud of endorphins.

The twentieth blow landed, and Peter paused a moment to breathe. Rolling up the warm leather, he set the whip to the side and moved closer to Stiles’ head hanging between his shoulders. He tilted up the head of his submissive, carefully taking in his expression.

Complete bliss was written across every feature. Glazed eyes with blown pupils, slightly slack mouth, every tension line fallen away.

Peter smiled down at him, utterly in love.

Perhaps it should have been more of a lightning moment, but- well, it was Stiles wasn’t it? It was always Stiles.

Peter bent down to kiss his easily molded mouth, murmuring praise and endearments. Eventually a whine left Stiles’ mouth, clearly indicating that he needed something but unable to articulate what.

“I have you sweetheart. I’ll take care of you,” Peter assured him.

Keeping a hand on his skin at all times, Peter got up on the bed behind him. He ran both hands over Stiles’ skin again, this time sticking to the warm marks across his ass and thighs. Stiles’ whines increased, pushing backwards into the touch.

Peter reached over for the lube, getting the fingers of one hand coated before carefully bringing it back to sink one finger into Stiles’ body. He was loose and relaxed, pushing back for more with abandon, all filters torn down. Peter shushed him gently and brought another finger up, pushing them in and scissoring, spreading the slick.

Stiles was so loose limbed and relaxed, and the heat inside so tempting, that it was only another moment before Peter slipped his fingers out and coated his cock.

He pushed inside, the heat radiating from the whip marks on Stiles skin matching with the heat gripping his cock and he slid into his sub’s body.

Stiles moaned again, dropping his head down further, feeling the skin of his thighs light up with Peter pressed against it. More intensely, he felt Peter’s dick filling and opening him, like a key into a lock.

He felt Peter rock back a little and then push in again further, hands holding Stiles’ hips in place. His control didn’t matter; Peter would take care of it. Peter would take care of him.

Stiles felt Peter’s cock pull back and fill him again, and he fell into it, happily drowning in nothing but the sensation of _Peter._

Peter could nearly feel Stiles let go of his last bit of control, giving it up to Peter entirely, and he growled, eyes flashing.

Gripping his hips more tightly, Peter adjusted the spread of his knees, seeking the angle he needed.

Stiles was nothing more than a pile of reaction to stimulus right now, breathing in time with the movements of Peter body, moaning his pleasure out into the room. When he let out a shuddered cry, Peter kept his thrust the same, and hammered back in.

The slap of skin against sting-sensitive skin, the drag of his cock in the heat of Stiles’ welcoming body- it built and built until Peter was barely holding on.

Keeping his pace of filling Stiles with every roll of his hips, Peter dragged his hands down from Stiles’ hips until he reached his ass. He rubbed circles into the marks, pulling a higher whine from Stiles, and then with a particularly hard thrust, he dug each thumbnail into a tender pink stripe.

“Come,” he ordered.

Stiles came with a wordless shout, hands clenching around his ball. Peter fucked Stiles through it, chasing his own orgasm with a faster pace. He pistoned in and out of Stiles’ loose body, using him to satisfy his needs until he crested, stilling as he filled Stiles with his come, marking him inside. His hips jerked one or two more times, extending the feeling, until he finally had to pull out or risk collapsing on Stiles.

Eyes still glazed, clearly spaced out of his mind, Stiles whined pitifully when he was empty. Peter quickly reached out and grabbed a small plug, easing it into Stiles’ body like they’d talked about. He untied his wrists after that, and efficiently cleaned up the worst of the mess before pulling Stiles onto his side and into the curve of Peter’s body.

They lay there together, Peter letting his hands drift over Stiles’ body as he murmured praise into his ears. It was another thirty minutes before Stiles started to come up.

“Hey love. Back with me?” Peter asked quietly when Stiles started to move a bit.

Speaking through a yawn, Stiles said “Yeah, I think so. That was a trip and a half,” he said lazily, finally rolling over to face Peter, tucking himself into his chest. “It was incredible, Peter. Thank you.”

Peter kept his arms around him, slowly rubbing his back. “You’re welcome,” he said. “And thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so beautiful in total submission, Stiles. I really mean that.”

Peter could feel Stiles grin against his chest as he gave a satisfied little wiggle closer to his Dom.

They lay together quietly for a few more minutes before Peter said, “I think it’s time for a shower. And we need to change the sheets.”

“Noooo,” Stiles whined. “Aren’t we supposed to be conserving water? We should just fall asleep right here. All filthy. For the environment.”

Peter grinned down at him, amused, but once again said, “It’s time for a shower. Come on, Stiles.”

Truly, it was only the work of about ten minutes to get them both showered, some crème rubbed into Stiles’ marks, and the sheets changed.

Just as they settled back into bed, Stiles’ eyes drooping and Peter’s feeling like they weren’t far behind, Stiles tucked himself back into Peter’s chest.

“Goodnight babe. I love you too,” he mumbled before drifting off.

Peter froze for a moment before pressing a kiss into Stiles’ hair.

Stiles saw everything about Peter. There was no reason this would be different. 

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda want to write a fic where Derek ends up subbing for Allison because both Lydia and Erica are out of town or something, and that's how Derek Learns The Power Of Real Trust Again or something. I also kinda just want to write a fic where Derek subs for Allison and Lydia Because Reasons ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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